Memories Coalescing
by Jaeto
Summary: The fall of Ravenscar, told from the viewpoint of one who didn't survive.
1. Chapter 1

**[I do not own anything associated with Artix Entertainment or AdventureQuest Worlds.  
**

**Hey guys! This is my first fanfic ever, so read and review to help me grow! BTW, the horrible capitalization at the end is intentional, as is the line spacing and whatnot.]**

**Paying the Dues**

_You will have your revenge. He will fall at the hand of the survivor._

Who… who are you? I don't… I don't remember… anything…

I never wanted revenge, never, never… for what?

_I am the Last Wish._

No, don't… don't leave me here… help me… it's all fading… Why can't I remember?

_Oblivion is waiting. Farewell._

Oblivion? He's… so I… am dead now? No, he can't… he can't take me, not yet…

Please just give me one last chance… to… to…

no

please

don't

take me

stop

i'm scared…

i'm…

i'm...

i…

…


	2. Chapter 2

**[Hello dear readers! As I mentioned before, AQW is not mine. It is a product of the combined creative awesomeness of the geniuses who work for AE. I made some of the characters up, but I based the story on the Ravenscar Saga in the game.**

**So without further ado... enjoy! Read and review!]  
**

**The Spark**

Darkness enveloping, neither friendly nor hostile. Fragments of memory, a sense of identity. Vague knowledge of who I once was, or perhaps should have been. Trapped within the confines of my broken mind, my shadowy prison. The riptide of black threatens to pull me under, but before it suffocates me, a memory sparks. Two thoughts collide, ideas rush along disjointed pathways to other parts of my brain. Neurons firing, memories resurfacing. One pushes itself into the limelight.

The laughter, the light, is all around. My father, the musician, is playing a lively folk tune for the neighbors' entertainment. They sing and clap along, relieving the burdens of the day with this simple pleasure. Ravenscar is blessed to possess such talent.

My little brother, Arteus, sits with his back pressed firmly against an oak tree, sketching a cat on a scrap of paper. With a few deft strokes, his hand outlines the curve of its back, the shape of its paws. His artistic talent is developing rapidly. I speculate that soon he will surpass my mother's artistic prowess at drawing cats, if nothing else. He likes cats.

My talent is my _lack_ of talent. I am busy hacking bits of bark off of the oak tree with my knife and eavesdropping on Rand and Mina, who, in my opinion, must be the two most love-struck idiots on Lore.

"Oh, the moonlight on your skin is more beautiful than a thousand sunsets over the ocean!" We don't even live near the ocean.

"Oh, the way your eyes sparkle makes my heart flutter like a butterfly! I'm crazy about you—I would go to ends of the world for you!" It's a pity we don't have an asylum around here.

Arteus tugs at my shirt. "Tomorrow's my birthday," he reminds me. "I'm gonna be nine years old and we'll have cake and we'll celebrate and everyone will sing for me and it'll be so fun." He smiles.

I grin back at him and pluck a leaf out of his fuzzy brown hair. "You look sleepy, Ar. Maybe you should go to bed early tonight? After all, tomorrow's a big, important day for you…" I let the suggestion hang in the air. I need him to go to bed early so I can start preparing for his surprise party tomorrow.

Arteus yawns and nods. He clambers to his feet and calls over his shoulder, "I'm going to eat something before bed. Maybe I'll have a fish-and-ice-cweam, er, _cream_, sandwich or something." Ewww. Arteus makes the most disgusting sandwiches.

"Whatever. You go do that," I mutter, stretching out beside the tree. It's been a long day and I want to take a nap before organizing the party. My eyes close to the comforting sounds of my father's cello, the mice rustling in the woods, and Rand's corny flirting with Mina. As I start to float away from consciousness, the forest seems to become quieter, more peaceful, as if it's waiting for something to happen.

Just as I'm about to drift off to sleep, my ears pick up a sound that, even before I wake up, makes me instinctively tighten my grip on the blade of my knife. It's an unearthly scream, long and drawn-out and full of pain and suffering. And when I realize who it is, my blood runs cold.

It's Arteus.


	3. Chapter 3

**[I do not own Ravenscar. I also do not own the concept of undead things. We have been over this before.  
**

**Hello dear readers! I made a deal with fellow fanfic writer Kaiban recently, which is probably why this chapter got done so quickly. Now I can go nag him until he posts another installment of his story! So read, review, and please tell me if you find any grammar mistakes... because I didn't reread this very thoroughly.]**

**Death and Destruction**

"Undead! The undead are coming! Run!" he screams from inside the house. "Somebody help me please—" Arteus' plea is suddenly cut off. Before I know what I'm doing, I roll to my feet and run to house as if the demons of hell were after me.

The kitchen door smashes onto its hinges, creaking ominously as I barrel into the room. Arteus is holding a breadknife dripping with melted ice cream, surrounded by a horde of skeletal soldiers. He takes a feeble swipe at the nearest one, then recoils as the skeleton slashes at him with a rusty sword.

I watch in horror as the next undead steps forward with an axe, sizing Arteus up. My little brother's eyes meet mine and he chokes out, "Don't let them kill me. Just, just…"

But I can't reach him. The crowd of undead covers half the kitchen, and I only have a knife. I glance up at the window behind Arteus, shards of glass scattered everywhere and a gaping hole in the center. Maybe…

I sprint around the back of the house and clamber through the opening, wincing as I feel the glass cut into my hands. Arteus has backed up into a corner, trying to defend himself with his knife and a fireplace poker he must have picked up. Just as I pull my legs through the shattered window, a skeleton steps forward with a spear. I can sense that this is the end, and Arteus must have too, for he desperately lunges forward with his poker. It slides between the skeleton's ribs, but the monster only grins and thrusts his spear into my brother's chest. I can see the redness seeping through his shirt, spreading into a huge splotch. Arteus stays standing for a few seconds, swaying drunkenly, but gravity finally wins out over his rapidly diminishing strength. He collapses onto the floor.

Seeing them attack my brother, my young, defenseless brother, pushes me over the edge and I go into a berserker rage. I can barely see Arteus' lifeless form through the red haze clouding my vision.

"YOU KILLED ARTEUS—I'LL KILL YOU!" I scream, hacking and slashing at the undead spearman that killed my brother. "He was only nine—you didn't have to kill him—you could have let him live. But he didn't, and now—YOU WON'T EITHER! I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!" I feel tremors of heat down my spine as I try to express my rage to these horribly indifferent creatures. As I continue to decimate their numbers, the skeletal soldiers actually begin to back away, towards the door. I have no intention of letting them escape to shatter the lives of other people. "I'm not finished with you!" I hurl the knife at the one just short of reaching the door, and suddenly the skeleton becomes just short of its head. Its reanimated bones crumble away, and its comrades throw whatever caution they had to the wind and sprint out the door.

I follow, yanking an axe out of a tree stump. I want to chop much more than firewood today. The victims-to-be are right there. I could kill them right now. It would be so easy. And yet… and yet some impossible semblance of honor keeps me from ending their miserable unlives. I push the notion aside. These monsters killed my brother. They killed my little brother, Arteus, whose birthday was tomorrow.

The blade of my axe catches the nearest one in the legs, and I feel the crunch as the bone shatters. My next axe stroke separates the skeleton at the waist, and I use the backhand to behead the one behind it. The final undead looks up, terror in his lifeless eyes, but I am beyond pity for these pathetic parodies of life. I split it in two from the top down, a twisted sense of humor igniting as it is reduced to a pile of calcium and long-dead cells.

Before I can wonder about my newly-discovered bloodthirsty personality, I hear a horrible crunch, and I gasp as blood starts to leak out of my side. I clutch my stomach. It hurts so much. No one ever told me how much it would hurt. I fight a losing battle with unconsciousness, and just before my life drops away, I realize that I never got a look at my attacker. My murderer.

But of course, it's already too late.


End file.
